


Youth, Beauty and the Wisdom that Comes with Age

by BekahRose



Category: Confessions of Dorian Gray, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BekahRose/pseuds/BekahRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man sitting across from him at the bar looks so painfully familiar that it makes his heart twist. In a sea of faces, one familiar pair of blue eyes is enough to make him feel both elated and heartbroken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Youth, Beauty and the Wisdom that Comes with Age

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agirlnamedtruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/gifts).



> Written for V, because she is AWESOME. 
> 
> This is my first time dabbling in the CoDG fandom, so I apologise for any wildly OOC behaviour on Dorian's part.
> 
> Major, Major thanks to Morg for all her wonderful encouragement and cheering. Without it, this fic may never have seen the light of day.

**Youth, Beauty and the Wisdom that comes with Age**

“You remind me of someone,” Merlin says slowly, instantly wary. He looks closely at the eerily familiar blue eyes, hoping to see some kind of spark of recognition.

The man sitting across from the bar just grins. “Good or…” He trails off and a slow smile curls his lips.

The man’s smile makes Merlin’s blood freeze in his veins and whatever hope that had begun to blossom in Merlin’s chest is quashed.

It’s been so long, so very, very long and he’s not sure if he has the heart (or the stomach), to go through losses as he did on that day at Camlann all over again. He pulls his pint glass closer, almost wrapping himself around it, wishing – not for the first time – to be invisible.

“Surely they’re not all bad memories?” He’s closer now and Merlin chokes down the impulse to send him sprawling across the bar with a mere thought.

“No,” he whispers, voice hoarse with disuse.

“Ahh, see.” The man grins again and holds out his hand as he continues to speak. “I’m Dorian, Dorian Gray.”

Merlin looks down at the extended hand before hesitantly reaching up to give it a quick, firm shake. “Merlin,” he says softly, forcing a tiny smile at the way Dorian’s eyes widen. He is still waiting for a spark of recognition from the man, something in his eyes that says, ‘I know exactly who and what you are and I’m going to make this time around worse.’

“That’s… an unusual name,” he grins and motions to the barman to pour them each another drink before asking, “Where your parents fond of Mallory, Stewart or White?”

“None,” Merlin replies, not really sure how it will go over if he ever explains that his parents were both dead long, long before Mallory, Stewart and White ever made the literary scene. “I was named after the bird. But what about you, I mean, Dorian Gray, really? Were _your_ parents overly fond of Oscar Wilde?”

Dorian’s laughter is rich and eases Merlin’s wariness somewhat. Mordred had never laughed like that, so open and sure of himself. There had always been that need to keep himself tightly under control lest his secret slip and reveal his true nature to Arthur and his fellow Knights. It curls around Merlin’s spine, warming him low in his gut and he relaxes slightly.

“You could say that,” Dorian says with a tiny smirk. “It’s a family name.”

Merlin nods slowly and pulls his drink closer to his chest. He is still a little unsure about the man next to him – the resemblance is uncanny – but he senses… nothing. There is none of the familiar energy that Merlin is so used to when meeting people of magic, none of the spark that lights up Merlin’s magic, reminding him that he isn’t truly alone. He even does his best to block out the sounds of the noisy pub and think loudly in Dorian’s direction, the one real way he has always been able to connect with Mordred, but to no avail. He gives up when nothing happens, when not even a flash of curiosity from the other man tickles his senses.

“So, I’m thinking, looking at me like that,” Dorian says slowly, drawing Merlin’s attention. “I remind you of a former lover?” He smiles slowly, his blue eyes bright with something that makes Merlin’s gut tighten in response.

“No, not a former lover.” Merlin replies, huffing a laugh into his drink. “Just someone I knew once… lifetimes ago.”

“Ahh,” Dorian gives Merlin another enigmatic grin and sidles closer. “But I’m sure you wish he was a former lover?”

Merlin does laugh then. His head falling forwards as he giggles into the space between his torso and the bar. The very idea of he and Mordred being lovers has never crossed his mind, at least… not until towards the end… before Kara. It was only then that Merlin had been able to see past the scared little Druid boy to the determined, capable young man he’d become.

“You’ve an intriguing smile, Merlin.” Dorian says as he takes a sip of his drink before his hand reaches out to cup Merlin’s cheek. “It would be such a shame for you to hide it.”

Merlin can feel the flush spread across his cheeks and work its way up to the tips of his ears. No one has spoken to him like that in years. Not since before the start of the new millennium.

“Er, thank you.” Merlin says politely, pulling away as slowly as possible. He looks down at his drink and blinks slowly.

The air between them thickens with _something_ \- Merlin’s not entirely sure what to call whatever it is - and Merlin resists the urge to pull away… _run_ away. It’s unfortunate that when he looks up, his brain freezes and all he can see are fathomless blue eyes that were once filled with so much anger and hatred. He chokes on his drink when a hand that is most certainly not his, slips into his lap; long fingers drawing abstract patterns along the inseam of his jeans.

“What do you say, Merlin,” Dorian’s voice washes over Merlin and his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of Merlin’s ear, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, “About you and I going somewhere a little more… private? We can discuss this friend of yours in depth, without having to talk over the evening rush?”

“Um, I’m not -.” Merlin was cut off as Dorian’s hand slid higher up the inside of his thigh.

“Just think about it,” Dorian whispers in his ear, causing Merlin to bite his bottom lip to keep from squeaking… or gasping. Or Heaven forbid, _moaning_. “Merlin and Dorian, two of the world’s most infamous characters...” Dorian trails off as his fingers dance up the placket of Merlin’s jeans and press down, applying the sweetest kind of pressure…

Merlin downs his drink and grabs his coat, asking Dorian as they make for the door, “Your place?”

“I’ll hail a cab,” Dorian grins and holds the door open for Merlin before going to do just that, and flagging down the first black cab he can see.

\-----

Merlin has no real idea what’s going on. He’s in the back of a cab and there’s a hot mouth attached to his neck, lavishing it with sucking kisses and tiny nips. This man - _Dorian_ , his brain haltingly supplies through a lust-induced fog - is driving him insane. He curls his long fingers into Dorian’s thick, black hair and holds on for dear life. He can see the driver glaring at them in the rear-view mirror and while normally he’d be embarrassed to be caught in such a position, right this moment he doesn’t really give a fuck so long as Dorian keeps nipping at the patch of skin behind his ear.

The taxi comes to a juddering halt and the driver taps on the glass.

“That’ll be ten pounds,” he grunts at them as Merlin extracts his fingers from Dorian’s hair and Dorian pulls away, already fumbling with an old fashioned bill fold and shoving a ten pound note in the driver’s direction.

Before he can really focus on anything more than the pleasant ache in his pants and the tingling mark on his neck, Merlin’s watching the cab speed away into the early evening while Dorian is tugging him along urgently towards the terraced house they’d pulled up in front of.

Merlin stumbles after Dorian, a laugh bubbling up from his chest that _almost_ shocks him into silence because Dorian comes to a halt and spins to look at him, mouth slightly open in disbelief. It is then that Merlin has to remind himself that this is _Dorian_ and not Mordred and that it’s perfectly okay to laugh.

“What?” Merlin asks as he follows Dorian into the house, only to find himself pushed up against the door with Dorian pushing against him in turn.

Dorian chuckles into Merlin’s mouth in lieu of an answer and grinds his hips into Merlin’s, using Merlin’s gasp as an opportunity to lick into his mouth.

Merlin groans and pulls Dorian closer, his fingers already tugging and pulling at the buttons of the other man’s coat as he thrusts his hips against Dorian’s, delighting in the tiny sparks of pleasure that it causes to go shooting along his spine. He struggles with Dorian’s coat until it’s lying in a tangled heap at their feet and begins to make short work of the crisp, white button-down; with each piece of flesh that is revealed, Merlin takes to marking it with teeth and tongue. Merlin fingers are trembling as he tugs Dorian’s shirt from his trousers; it’s been so long since he… since _anyone_ has even looked twice at the quiet young man that his desire is almost overwhelming.

It feels like a single heartbeat passes and they’re both naked as the day they were born, and Merlin’s spinning Dorian around to press him up against the door, his fingers ghosting along ribs, down towards hips that fit neatly into the palm of his hands as he grinds his cock - sticky and achingly hard - into the crack of Dorian’s arse. Merlin uses this time - Dorian’s forehead resting on the cool glass panel of his front door - to catalogue all that’s different about the man in front of him, from the boy he knew a hundred lifetimes ago. Their similarities - as far as Merlin can tell - are surface level. There are none of the scars that Mordred had carried, none of the wrinkles or marks that speak of a life of hiding and fighting. Merlin’s long fingers move to stroke the flawless patch of skin that is Dorian’s left side, dancing across unmarked flesh that, were this indeed the Druid of old – the Druid that stole Arthur from this world – would be scarred and twisted.

“C’mon,” Dorian’s voice is rough and it drags Merlin from his musings. “Stop teasing.”

Merlin laughs and grabs his cock, slapping it against Dorian’s left buttock. “Stop being so impatient,” he grins and steps away. “Lube, we need… we need… _FUCK_.”

Merlin stepping back is all that Dorian needs before he’s turning on the spot and dropping to his knees. He grips Merlin’s hips and hauls him forward, mouth already open, tongue at the ready to curl around the tip of Merlin’s cock. The shock of the damp heat that surrounds him effectively causes Merlin to shut up. He moves closer to Dorian on wobbly knees and braces one hand on the door, the other moving to grip Dorian’s dark curls.

Merlin chances a look down and the sight of his cock, slick with spit and precome, sliding in between dusky pink lips – in between _Dorian’s_ dusky pink lips – is enough to send him into sensory overload. He closes his eyes and his grip in Dorian’s hair tightens, making the man groan around him. The vibrations from that groan are the last straw.

Merlin’s apology is uttered between gasping breaths and stuttered moans as he thrusts into Dorian’s waiting mouth. He uses his grip on Dorian’s hair to hold the younger man still as he fucks into him, the sound of his balls slapping against Dorian’s chin simply adding to Merlin’s urgency.

“Oh _Christ_ ,” Merlin mutters as he forces himself to look down. He meets Dorian’s eyes, pupils blown so wide that all that’s left is a thin ring of icy blue. It’s this that tips Merlin over the edge. He can feel his balls draw up, the pleasure coiling tightly in the base of his spine and every nerve ending sparking and building up the wave of pleasure. He roughly jerks Dorian’s head back and off his cock as he comes. Hot, white spurts decorating the younger man’s chin and neck before Merlin can direct his cock away from Dorian’s face and towards his chest.

Dorian’s laughter is infectious as Merlin stumbles towards him, spent and barely standing over him. He licks at his chin, causing Merlin to wobble somewhat before Dorian catches him by the hips and laps at Merlin’s spent cock, tonguing at the foreskin.

“That was,” Merlin starts to say as his world slowly begins piecing itself back together. “I’m sorry,” he nudges Dorian backwards with a gentle knee to the shoulder he can see that Dorian’s still hard, still wanting.

“Don’t be,” Dorian says, his hands gently massaging Merlin’s hips, his head tilted back to meet Merlin’s gaze. “The night is still so very young.” He grins and stands up in one smooth motion, forcing Merlin to leave the safety and stability of the door.

When Dorian grabs Merlin’s hand, and begins to lead him up the stairs, Merlin takes one last moment to compare the man before him with the boy - and Knight - he knew. There is something about this man in front of him that Mordred had lacked… a wisdom that Merlin only truly began to understand after his fifth century alone and waiting. Where Mordred would have raced Merlin to the finish, Dorian is happy to take his time, is happy to let things play out as slowly as possible, provided he gets there in the end. And as Merlin meets Dorian’s slow, easy smile as they cross the threshold to one of the most decadent bedroom’s Merlin’s seen since he was a young manservant, fresh from Ealdor; he sends a small prayer to whomever is responsible for his knowledge, because as Dorian pulls him closer, he knows that he will get there in the end, no matter how long it takes.

_~Fin~_


End file.
